


A Bottichelli on the Sofa

by AllKindsOfEverything



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV)
Genre: ...if you squint., Budding Romance, F/M, Gen, because that's totally the ship name now., lemings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7126420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllKindsOfEverything/pseuds/AllKindsOfEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Hastings, Miss Lemon and an unexpected sleep over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bottichelli on the Sofa

**Author's Note:**

> Today is anelementofsurprise's birthday, so this is dedicated to her! Hope you had a lovely day, dear!!

The unexpected sound of the doorbell made him look up from the book he had been reading by the fireplace.  
His gaze drifted to the clock on the mantel piece; quarter past nine on a Tuesday. "Who would call at this hour?" He thought to himself and placed his book by the tiffany lamp -a birthday present from Poirot- on the small end table next to the sofa.  
Getting up, it was only then that he became aware of the rain pounding against the windows, "and in this weather?"

He crossed the small vestibule in two strides and opened the door, surprised to see the woman on his doorstep. "Miss Lemon?"

"I'm so sorry, Captain Hastings," she smiled apologetically, several drops falling from the brim of her hat as she moved her head.

He quickly stepped aside. "Come in." Following her with his gaze, he frowned, "good Lord, you're soaked." 

Miss Lemon brushed the back of her hand over her jaw line in an attempt to get rid of some of the raindrops that had collected there, "The wind was too strong; my umbrella broke."

"What are you even doing here?"

She reached into her coat while she said "Mister Poirot asked me to bring this over." Furrowing her brow when her hand touched damp paper, she produced an envelope from her inside pocket, wrinkled by the rain. She stared at the damage with raised eyebrows, gasping an embarrassed "Oh."

Hastings smiled mildly, "It's all right."

Handing over the soaked documents, she apologised again, "I am so sorry, I thought if I kept it under my coat, but..." she trailed off, shrugging, her eyes still firmly fixed on the envelope now in his hands.

"Don't worry," the captain shook his head, after a moment adding a concerned "you're shivering."

Felicity looked at him and shrugged, "Well, it is rather cold out there."

"Right." His gaze travelled down the front of her drenched coat, "Let me, uh, let me get you a towel... or... two."

Shaking her head she stopped him, "Oh, that won't be necessary. I didn't want to impose on you, I'll be on my way and-"

"-don't be silly." Hastings cut her off, "It's raining cats and dogs out there. You'd catch your death."

"But, Captain Hastings-"

"-you're staying right here," he insisted. "I mean, I'd offer to drive you home, but my car is at the garage and-" 

"-Oh, I wouldn't dream of-," she intervened, her words dying on her lips when he reached out and touched his hand to her arm. 

"Please."

Something in his eyes stopped her from arguing further. He smiled at her, then left her standing there by the entrance of the living room to retrieve the towels he had promised.  
She stepped inside and took a look around, her gaze lingering on the sofa. She didn't dare sit down, not wanting to get the cushions wet. Taking a deep breath, she unbuttoned her coat and went to hang it up on one of the hooks by the front door.  
She caught her reflection in the mirror next to the coat rack and frowned at her hat; the brim was slanted and the felt so soggy that it had lost its shape. She resisted the urge to wring it out after she took it off. Her dress was as soaked through as her coat; she felt her stockings beginning to dry, pulling uncomfortably at her legs. She rolled her shoulders and grimaced; her underwear stuck to her skin in some peculiar places. "Mild summer showers my foot," she grumbled.

"There you are." 

Felicity spun around at the sound of his voice as he returned from the direction of the bedroom, holding two towels.

"I also got you these." He presented her with a white cotton shirt and some slacks, "I know they'll be far too large, but at least they're dry?"

"Thank you, Captain Hastings," she smiled and dabbed the side of her face with one of the towels as a drop trailed from her hairline. "Now, since I'm staying," she felt silly for asking, "would you... would you mind terribly if I took a shower?"

"Oh," he was surprised by her request, "right. Uh. No. Of course not. Go right ahead." He showed her to the bathroom, turning on the heating for her, then left her alone.

He returned to his armchair, picked up his book again and tried to get comfortable. After a moment he heard the water being turned on and smiled. Arthur Hastings knew how wonderful it was to stand under the hot spray of a shower after being surprised by rain. An image of Miss Lemon flashed through his head, and he quickly redirected his thoughts. Getting up, he walked towards the kitchen. Tea, yes, once she came back, he should have tea ready for her. And a blanket. Yes. But first: Tea! 

~+~

Meanwhile, Felicity Lemon was peeling herself out of her wet clothes, having turned on the water to wait for it to warm up. She reached out and tested the temperature, taking a few moments to figure out the foreign system, getting used to its workings. "There," she smiled to herself as she let the water flow over her outstretched arm, "perfect."  
Stepping into the shower, facing the shower head, she suppressed a moan as she let the warmth seep through her. For a moment she argued whether or not to wash her hair, then let her head roll forward, marvelling at the feeling of warm water rinsing the cold rain from her scalp. Small trickles ran down her forehead and cheeks, collecting at her nose and chin. She watched the water flow for a moment and just breathed.  
Whoever had invented running hot water deserved a medal!  
Pulling her hair back, she looked around for the soap, finding it sitting in a little bowl in the corner. She brushed the tip of her nose against it, taking in the fragrance and smiled; it smelled of him.  
Felicity shook her head, mentally scolding herself for the peculiar feeling that had just crept up on her. She made a point of concentrating on the task at hand and began lathering up her hair, not thinking of Arthur Hastings another second.

~*~*~*~

When she finally emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later, he caught himself staring with his mouth agape, and quickly closed it, praying she hadn't noticed.  
With her hair hanging down in wet strands way past her shoulders, and wearing the shirt and slacks that were far too large for her tiny frame, she looked so much younger.  
She was currently busy rolling up one sleeve, the cuff of the other dangling around her elbow.

Catching his eye, her cheeks turned pink and her lips curled up at the corners. "Sorry."

"Oh no, don't be." he got up from his place on the sofa and walked over to her, watching mesmerised as she tucked her auburn tresses behind her ear nervously.

Felicity caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she struggled to roll up the other sleeve with her non-dominant hand.

Hastings reached out, "Here, let me help."

"Thank you." She held out her arm, watching his hands as they expertly worked on the soft cotton material, his thumbs brushing against her skin occasionally, making it tingle in the oddest of ways. She looked up; his brow was furrowed in concentration. It was quite endearing.

"There," he smiled down at her, only now noticing how short she was without her shoes. If he were to embrace her now, he could easily rest his chin on top of her head. He huffed in amusement at the thought.

"What?" Felicity was surprised by his reaction, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious. "Did I do something funny?"

"Oh no," he shook his head, "Sorry."

"It's all right," she smiled, "I just ask because sometimes I don't notice these things."

"You're fine," he reassured her. For a moment he got lost in her eyes; pulling himself back to reality, he turned towards the sofa, "I made tea."

"Oh, good." Even just the idea of tea made her feel better. She wasn't even sure about what. It just did.

Hastings watched her take a seat, remaining standing. He filled her cup, receiving a grateful smile, matching it easily. "I got you a blanket as well," he said, pointing towards where it was folded over the armrest.

She followed his gaze and smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you." Whether she wanted to admit it or not; her feet were still cold. "Would you mind if I'd," she motioned to the cushions.

"Oh, not at all. Please, make yourself comfortable." He took the blanket from her hands without giving it another thought, then moved to help her put her feet up.

Miss Lemon was taken by surprise by his actions, but didn't complain. She curled up on the side of the sofa closest to the armchair his cup of tea was standing in front of and let him arrange the blanket around her without a word.

Straightening, he checked his handiwork, then picked up her cup and handed it to her.

She accepted it gratefully, cupping it between her hands and bringing it to her lips, inhaling the steam before taking a tentative sip. She smiled and hummed in approval.

Smirking proudly, he went to sit in his armchair. "I'm sorry Poirot made you go out in this weather."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad when I started." She regarded him over the rim of the cup.

They talked about the papers she had brought over; case files about a peculiar adventure that had ended with the culprit behind bars two days ago. Hastings had not been able to make heads or tails of it, so he had asked his friend if he could go through the notes during a quiet evening. He hadn't expected them until the weekend.

"I'm afraid they might be ruined," Miss Lemon scowled, looking towards the mantel where the captain had placed them to dry a safe distance away from the fire.

"I'm sure it's fine."

"I was in the middle of transcribing them, but Mister Poirot said there was no need."

She sounded somewhat miffed about that, but he didn't dare mention it.  
"Well, thank you for going to the trouble to get them to me."

His smile made whatever agitation she was still feeling disappear.

They quietly sipped their tea for a while, the only sound the rain against the window and the occasional crackling of the fire.

"I just hope he'll find a new case soon," Miss Lemon said, raising an eyebrow, "You know how he gets when he has too much spare time on his hands."

Hastings chuckled. "The 'little grey cells' don't like too much leisure."

She smiled in agreement.

Their conversation flowed easily, time ticking by unnoticed, the storm outside remaining vivid.  
Neither of them noticed how late it got, until Felicity's eyes drifted towards the clock.

"Oh."

He followed her gaze, surprised that it was indeed quite late.  
They looked at each other, somewhat embarrassed.

Hastings was the first to speak, "I guess we should go to bed." He watched Miss Lemon nod in agreement; a faint blush seemed to spread across her delicate features.  
Considering the options at hand, he went on, "You can have the bed. I'll take the couch."

She watched from her spot on the sofa as he got up, and shook her head. "Oh no, Captain Hastings."

"I insist," he looked down at her upturned face and stopped for a moment. With her long hair falling in gentle waves about her features and those big blue eyes she reminded him of a painting by some old master.

Tilting her head to one side, Felicity objected, "Don't be silly; the sofa is far too short for you. You'd get a back ache."

Snapping out of his pondering, he averted his gaze, looking down at his slippers for a moment, then back at her, "Well, I guess you're right about that."

She smiled at him, her voice gentle, "I'll be fine right here."

"Are you sure?"

He still sounded uncertain, so Felicity nodded, "Absolutely."

"Well, uh," he buried his hands in his pockets, "would you like a pillow or something?"

"The cushions will do just nicely," she shook her head, smiling up at him warmly.

"All right then." Hastings paused for a moment, looking down at her again, then took their tea cups and quickly brought them into the kitchen. Reappearing in the doorway, he felt somewhat uneasy as he saw her readjusting the cushions, getting comfortable. "Do you need anything else? A glass of water perhaps?"

"No, I'm fine." She reassured him, pulling the blanket up further, shifting to lie on her side.

"I'll, ah, I'll leave you alone then." He nodded, reaching for the light switch, "Good night."

"Good night, Captain Hastings." Felicity stretched to turn off the table lamp on the small end table next to her make-shift bed and then curled up under the blanket, gazing into the fireplace, watching the dying ambers glow until she fell asleep.

~*~*~*~

Dawn was breaking when Miss Lemon was woken by a couple of sparrows on the window sill, singing beautifully, but rather loudly. Eyes still closed, she furrowed her brow for a second but then smiled at the sound.  
Rolling over, she hugged the cushion she'd used as pillow and took a deep breath, still half asleep. An image appeared behind her closed eyelids. An image of Arthur Hastings smiling at her gently. Her lips curled up and she let her imagination take over, but then she remembered where she was and quickly snapped herself out of it, sitting up. Why on earth would her mind even wander in that particular direction? She neatly folded the blanket and placed it next to her on the seat, looking down at herself. The first two buttons of the shirt she was wearing had somehow become undone. Felicity furrowed her brow and moved her hands to close them, catching her hand in the sleeve of the much too large garment. How she had managed to unroll it during the night was beyond her.

Looking at the clock on the mantel piece, she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and got up, almost tripping over the long legs of the trousers she was wearing. She giggled lowly, suddenly terribly amused by the situation.  
Making her way into the bathroom, she checked the clothes she had hung up carefully the night before and noticed with an annoyed huff that her stockings were ruined. She decided that the rest was at least dry enough to wear, even though the hems were still slightly damp. Besides; the dress was long enough to wear without stockings anyway.  
When she reached down to put on her shoes her hair fell against her face and she caught a whiff of it. She smiled at the familiar scent. At least now she understood why she had dreamed of Captain Hastings; the subconscious was a strange thing. ...not that she minded.

~*~*~*~

Hiding a yawn behind his hand, Hastings shuffled towards the living room, wearing his dressing gown. He had argued with himself whether to get dressed properly, but since he didn't know if she had been able to change into her own clothes yet, he had opted for his robe.  
The smell of bacon and eggs was in the air and he felt his stomach churn. Quickly checking to find the living room indeed empty, he strolled into the kitchen and stopped in the doorframe, leaning against it. She was standing in front of the stove, her back towards him, her long auburn hair in a low ponytail against her back. He was somewhat saddened by the fact that she was wearing her own clothes and unconsciously tightened the belt of his robe when she turned and smiled at him.

"Good morning." Pulling the pan from the stove, she walked towards the small kitchen table, where she had laid out two places. "I hope you don't mind; I made breakfast."

"Oh, I don't mind at all," he answered honestly, combed his hand through his somewhat disheveled hair and sat down in the chair next to which she was standing. "Did you sleep alright?" He inquired, watching her push a good portion of the scrambled eggs onto his plate. They smelled delicious.

"I did," she smiled down at him, emptying the pan onto her plate before quickly fetching the bacon she had prepared before.

He wordlessly filled their tea cups, a comfortable silence falling between them. This felt nice, he thought to himself, eating his food; he could get used to this. "You should get drenched in rain more often."

Felicity regarded him over her tea cup, "And why is that?"

"Your scrambled eggs are better than mine," he grinned, shoving another fork full into his mouth as if to prove his point further.

She smiled and sipped her tea quietly. Hearing the flap on the letter box slap shut, Miss Lemon got up and went to fetch the mail without second thought.  
Just as she had suspected, the newspaper had been delivered as well and she silently handed it to Captain Hastings on her return.

"Thank you, dear." The second the words had left his mouth he stopped in his tracks. His shocked expression was met with an amused smile. He blushed, "Sorry."

Her smile widening, Felicity refilled their tea cups, remaining quiet. Meeting his gaze, she raised a challenging eyebrow, "Wishful thinking, Captain Hastings?" She reached for her cup, taking a tentative sip.

"Maybe?" He quipped, quickly hiding behind the newspaper, quite proud of himself when he heard her choke on her tea a little. Yes... he could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to goodoldbaz and wortinterpret on tumblr for their input! ♥


End file.
